Canción Triste
by Koorinoen
Summary: Harry, who was disappointed by the ministry and the "light", turned to Voldemort and worked for him as an assassin. Until one day he met a blind girl who had a strange power. A rather dark fic. Rating might go up. ON HOLD
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K Rowling, I am just writing for fun.The usual stuff.  
  
  
  
Prologue  
  
Severus Snape died last Wednesday, or Tuesday, no one was sure. It didn't really matter. It was not like anyone would care. Hagrid found his battered corpse just outside Hogwarts' apparating border on Thursday morning when the Groundkeeper was on his usual morning patrol. Headmaster Dumbledore announced the death of the potion master to all students and staffs during breakfast. No one seemed to be grieving a bit, instead, some sneered, some even silently cheered. After all, everyone was expecting it. The potion master had been captured for at least a month. The ministry made no attempt of rescuing him.  
  
Snape's corpse was in a terrible condition. His torn robe was caked and soaked with blood. There were bruises and gashed everywhere on his body. Nearly every single bone was broken, and judging from the bleeding and scared organs, the Death Eaters didn't have to use the killing curse at all.  
  
And here, on the following Monday afternoon, Snape's hasty funeral was to take place. The former potion master was in an average coffin, in an average black shroud robe, waiting to be buried in an average graveyard. The medi-wizards that performed the autopsy didn't even bother to mend his broken bone. They merely cleaned his body so he would look presentable on the funeral.  
  
Albus Dumbledore was going to be late for the funeral. He tossed away another resume that was applying for the position of potion master and stood up. Just then an owl flew into his office and dropped a piece of parchment in his hands.  
  
"Not now." Dumbledore said and put the scroll on his bookshelves on his way out without looking at the sender of the letter. Then he conveniently forgot about it.  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry Potter was the last one to arrive the graveyard. After all, he didn't get his apparating license yet, and had to travel by broom. The pouring rain had slowed him down. He was rather surprised how empty the grave yard was. Only four people were there to attend the funeral. Professor Dumbledore, him, a woman and a girl who must be Sanpe's family.  
  
The funeral went on solemnly in the downpour. Not even the girl had made a noise when the coffin was lowered into the ground.  
  
There was no word from the ministry for their devoted spy, even though it was said that a piece of vital information about the movement of death eaters was found clutched in his broken finger during autopsy. No student other Harry had come to pay respect to their potion master. No one even sent a card or a flower. Hemione Granger, who had the top mark in the class, refused to come because she would not miss Hagrid's Care of Magical Creature class. Ron stared at Harry as if he was insane when he said that he was to attend Snape's funeral. "That greasy bat?" was all Fred and George had said before returning to their prank inventories. Draco Malfoy and all of his Slytherin followers couldn't say their head of the house' name without sneering, even though he raised their marks so many times so that they can pass their year. Yet in cold rage, all Harry could hear was the husky, harsh voice of Voldemort. How he would reward the Lestranges for going to prison for him.  
  
"Yet those who claimed to work for the light would not pay a man who died for their cause proper respect." He thought to himself when he saw Severus Snape's face for the last time. He was pale as ever, but the scowl was not there, which made seemed to be so much younger. Then Harry realized that his potion master indeed was just a young man. The expression on his face even resembled something like peace, or rather, as Harry later realized, relieved. Of course, thought Harry, he was relieved from his pain, his past and his duty.  
  
Immediately after the funeral, Dumbledore introduced Harry to Snape's wife and daughter. Until then Harry didn't notice that Mrs. Snape was wearing a black suit instead of robe. She was a muggle. She was a beautiful woman in her early thirties. Her eyes were still red from crying, but when she shook Harry hand, she was expressionless. Harry felt sorry for her, and secretly wondered how and why had Snape met and married a muggle woman. Before he had time to dwell on that thought longer, he was introduced to Snape's daughter, and she touched him like nothing else ever did.  
  
"This is Trista. Professor Snape's daughter." Dumbledore led the young girl, not any older than eight years old, to Harry. Harry muffled the girl's soft brown hair and shook her little hand. But he was taken aback when he looked into the girl's face. It was the face of a china doll, but her eyes, which could be black pools like her father's, were grey instead. They were empty and without focus. They looked right through Harry. The girl was blind. She sniffed Harry's hand first, then spoke in a voice like chime.  
  
"You are Dad's student, aren't you? Is he a good teacher?"  
  
Harry's heart melt at the girl's empty gaze. "Yes." He said. "Your father was a brilliant teacher."  
  
Trista smiled at him. He suddenly felt his sadness and rage got driven away by that smile.  
  
  
  
So what do you think? Please review if you like it, I'll work on it with a faster pace. 


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize in Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Music Canción Triste belongs to guitarist Jesse Cook. I am just writing this piece for fun..the usual stuff.  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"Headmaster!"  
  
Albus Dumbledore looked up from the large pile of parchment he was working on and saw Dobby the House-elf standing in front of his desk, holding a parchment out to him. "Dobby is cleaning Headmaster's bookshelves." Dobby screeched. "Dobby found this parchment. Is Headmaster need this?"  
  
Dumbledore took the parchment from the house-elf's hand, and blew away the ten years worth of dust before opening the seal. His eyes widened as he read the neat handwriting. He recognized the writing at the first glance.  
  
"Headmaster:  
  
Since you have received this letter, there is only one explanation. I have died in Voldemort's hand. Do not pity me. I died on my duty, left with pride and finally liberated.  
  
However, I must ask you one favour.  
  
You knew about Trista. You knew she is a squib and blind, therefore she would never attend Hogwarts. Here I must apologize. Out of my selfishness, I have lied to you. Trista has a special power. She is able to control people's mind. Also, her smile has the affect of phoenix songs, that it can drive away sadness, despair or any negative thought. These are very dangerous gifts. You must understand why we have kept it a secret within the family.  
  
Now I must ask you to take care of Trista. Keep her out of Voldemort's clutch and do not use her power in the war. Please respect a man's humble attempt to protect his family.  
  
Aside from your forgiveness, this is the only thing that I ask of you. Please do not let me down.  
  
  
  
Yours Truly Severus Snape June 25th, 1995"  
  
Dumbledore shook his head in disbelieve. Then he looked at the date on the letter again. 1995. The letter had been sitting on his shelf for exactly ten years. Suddenly, he stood up and walked out of his office as quick as he could.  
  
Ten years ago when Severus Snape had died, Dumbledore had done as much as he could for the Snape family. Snape was not an official employee of the ministry. He was not an auror, or an unspeakable of Department of Mysteries, which was one of the excuses the ministry had made for making no attempt of rescuing him. Order of Phoenix was really an underground organization. His death was civilian casualty. Of course the ministry had no pension for his family. The money they would receive from Hogwarts each month would hardly be enough for the two of them to live on in muggle world. Dumbledore personally added in a sum, but he knew it would barely last two years at most. He offered the remaining Snape family to live in the wizard world, but they refused. He understood. It was hard to live in a world where you can barely put food on table, but it was harder to live in a world where people tell you it was a school but you could only see a ruin. For the first couple of years, Isabella Snape, Severus' wife, had been owling him every couple of months, then the letter stopped, Dumbledore had completely lost track the Snapes.  
  
Now he had to find them again.  
  
Things were not going well for their side at this moment. Voldemort was getting recruits every year. There was an army of Death Eater being built at the very moment. Since the death of Severus Snape, neither the ministry nor the Order of Phoenix was able to plant in a decent spy into Voldmort's circle for long. Voldemort's movement was completely out of control. What was worse was that Voldemort seemed have trained an assassin, or a troop of them. These were not common Death Eaters. They did not participate in raids, torture or any other Death Eater activities. Their only duty was kill, planned assassinations. Sometimes Dumbledore wondered whether it was really human that had done jobs, or Voldemort had learned a couple things from muggles and designed some killing robots. The assassins seemed to be cold and cunning. They never left a trace. The assassins never lingered longer than necessary, never caused any unnecessary death. It was always just hit the target and go. Each night an important ministry official or an experienced auror or an Unspeakable would be taken out. The ministry was quickly loosing all the competent people, leaving only the cowards, fools and the inexperienced to fight one of the harshest wars, while Voldemort's force was growing stronger day by day. Dumbledore was actually surprised that he was not attacked yet.  
  
Of course he understood Severus Snape's request, leaving his blind, defenseless daughter out of the conflict. Should he be in the same position, he would have done the same thing. However he was in a totally different situation. The "light" needed all the help it could get. Trista's power was too useful to give up.  
  
"Forgive me, Severus." That was what was in his mind when he apparated.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Avada Kedavra." The incarnation rolled smoothly off his tongue, the green light flashed off his wand. The man in front of him fell without a chance to scream.  
  
He didn't look at the man's face, therefore he did not his horrified expression. He stopped looking at their face long time ago. Even if he did, he would never look at them in the eyes. He made sure that he fires the curse at the first chance he got, not giving his victim the time to realize what was going on. Not knowing his target at a personally level made the job easier. There. Down. Nothing more than a name from a black envelope delivered by a black raven.  
  
He turned and apparated away without one second of hesitation. It wasn't until he reached his flat in muggle London that he dared to take off that suffocating mask. He took three long strides to reach the middle of the living room from the door way as all ways. First step, he took off the mask and threw it onto the armchair; second, he untied the sash on his robe; third, he tore off the black robe and threw it and the sash accurately on top of the mask. By then, he stood right in front of the coffee table that was in the middle of the living room. On the table was a glass of water. He tossed the whole thing down in one single gulp. As the messy black hair slid away from his forehead, a lightening shaped scar came into view.  
  
After that, Harry Potter, the 25-year-old "The Boy Who Lived" went into the bathroom for his ritual bath. After that, he thought to himself without the slight altering of his blank expression, perhaps he would go read the new book he bought, perhaps he would try to find that song again.  
  
Canción triste.  
  
  
  
That day was overcast again. She sensed. It was humid and hot, even though it was already six in the afternoon. She jumped out of bed and opened the curtain. Not that it would make any difference; she couldn't see anyway. However, she always imagined that six o'clock in the afternoon to be the most depressing time of an overcast day. As her mother had described to her, it was the time that was not completely dark, but it was dark to not be able to see words clearly without turning on lights. And unlike a sunny day, the darkness was completely grey, without a trace of warmness and brightness. Without a trace of hope that the next day would be a nice day.  
  
Of course, she could only imagine. As long as she could remember, she had seen nothing but darkness.  
  
Without wasting more time, she got dressed and put on some light make-up. The good thing about being blind all your life was that you've learned to do everything without using eyes. For things like putting on make-up, eyes were really not necessary. After all, you would know where your own eyes, brows and mouth were.  
  
Picking up her purse, she walked out of her flat and into the darkening city. Over the years, she had trained herself to be able to sense her surroundings through hearing, the flow of air and the energy given off by surrounding objects. After 18 years of training, she only appeared to walk slower that most people. It was rather hard for people to realize that she was blind at the first glance.  
  
As the noise on the street increase, she realized that she was approaching her destination.  
  
Calmly putting on a slight seductive sway into her walk, Trista Snape walked into the red light zone of London. It had been three years since she started her nightly wander here, and now she had even established a reputation for herself.  
  
As always, she walked slowly, carefully sensing the energy around her, trying to pick out a suitable costumer for tonight, but she could since there was something powerful in the air. Then, before she knew it, she was stopped by someone. She waited for the person to speak, but the person remained quiet. It seemed that he (yes, at least she could sense that it was a he) was studying her. Finally, she made the first move. She picked up his hand and sniffed. Then she froze.  
  
She knew the hand. It was old, slender and boney. Immediately she remembered a rainy day, the sound of water splashing on grass, the coolness and humidity of the air, the lack of energy in her mother's soul and the stillness, coldness of her father's body.  
  
"Miss Snape, I must confess that you are rather hard to find." The person finally said.  
  
"Headmaster..Dumbledore?"  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's note: A big thank you to Skull Bearer for the review! And thanks for all those who read this story, it would be even nicer if you left a review. Constructive criticism needed especially. Please? Begging, pleading, beseeching imploring...on my knees?  
  
OK, first, I know that Snape's letter is pretty lame.  
  
Also, canción triste is an actually guitar piece by Jesse Cook. It doesn't belong to me. It's a very beautiful piece of music. 


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"It's been a very long time." Trista sat opposite to Dumbledore in his office, holding a mug of hot chocolate.  It was raining outside, she could sense it, therefore she was delighted when the old wizard offered her something warm and sweet to drink.

"To me it seemed like a flash." Dumbledore stood before the window, overlooking Quidditch Pit. "There, ten years gone, but nothing seemed to change."

"Ten years might seem insignificant to you, Headmaster, but it's a long time for us….em, muggles?"

"Yes, muggles."

"Muggles." She repeated the word again and sipped her hot chocolate. "You have no idea what kind of rows my parents used to have for that word. It's actually quite funny when you think about it. My mother understood it simply means 'non-magical people', but she just couldn't get over the sound of it. Dad came home in the summers, slipped and said that word, and Mom would get angry because Dad had called her and me mugglers. Then he would say that I am not a muggle, I am a squib, she would get even angrier, saying that he called me a squid." There was a trace of humour in her voice, but she did not have a smile on her lips. 

 "Trista, I am sorry for what had happened to your family."

But she just waved that bit apology and sympathy away. She finished her chocolate and leaned forward, her empty eyes stared directly at Dumbledore. Despite her long hair and definite feminine feature of her face, she suddenly looked like a teenage boy. The empty stare was unnerving.

"Everyone feel sorry for it, but it's no one's fault. I had enough sympathy for the last ten years. So professor, I believe after ten years, you didn't just find me to say sorry. What is the occasion?"

"Would you like another mug of hot chocolate?" Dumbledore returned to his seat.

"No, tea please."

Dumbledore suddenly realized, after all, he was talking to Severus Snape's daughter. He conjured up a cup of tea and started. "Well, I found a letter from your father. I say found because somehow it had been sitting on my bookshelves for ten years. In the letter he mentioned a special power of yours, and he asked me to take care of you."

"Really? Then I suppose you searched the entire country, if not the whole world, for me and found me at the most unlikely place? That's very kind of you, sir." Trista said with a mocking smile. "You think that you need to enlist my help, don't you? The war is not exactly favouring your side."

"Trista…"

"I might be blind, professor, but I am not deaf. Don't you think there are a little too many people, or, muggles died of carbon monoxide poisoning?  I am not a wizard's daughter for nothing. I recognized the signs."

Dumbledore did not answer, instead, he studied Trista again, very carefully. The girl looked exactly her age, if not even younger. Looking at the young woman sitting across him, he could still recognize the girl with a face of a china doll he met on that rainy day ten years ago. She looked very much like her mother, soft, clear skin that was almost translucent, her rosy cheeks, pink lips like rose petals, and her big grey eyes. every aspect of her appearance conveyed innocence. How deceiving appearances could be. She sure had inherited her father's wit and bluntness.

"The truth, Professor." She kept on going as Dumbledore did not answer. "How bad is it?"

"Very bad. Voldemort is getting new recruits everyday. It seems that every capable young wizard and witch walk into Deatheater's camp directly from Hogwarts Gate. The very few who went to the ministry would be assassinated before getting enough experience to make a difference."

"Frustrating."

"Yes. And the assassins. We are not even sure if it was just one or a troop of them. They turn up at the most unlikely time and place, always hitting the target no matter how heavily guarded. We are loosing all the capable people. Voldemort's action is uncontrolled."

"You mean that you need spies." Trista said pleasantly, as if she were listening to a story.

"Yes. But I am afraid that we are not able to plant a good spy after your father's death. I suppose that the ministry must regret for not to rescue your father now."

"No, the ministry did the right thing." Trista leaned back into her chair and crossed her legs casually. "Or the most economical thing, should I say? My father's only useful function was a spy, once he had blown his cover, he is useless. Any attempt of rescuing would be a waste of human resources. He was prepared for it when you asked him to return to his duty.  But now, do I sense that you would like to use my power in spying?"

"Trista, I want you to understand that I do not request you to do any thing. Your power, if you agree to lend me, is certainly useful for our cause, but your father asked me to take care of you, I am happy to do only that. Personally I would not like to have you in a dangerous position."

Trista's eyes seemed gained focus suddenly. Her gaze burned into Dumbledore's eyes for a long time. When she finally shifted her gaze away, she said: "Did my father say anything special to you before he left?"

"No."

"Well, he certainly respected and trusted you very much, that you had his complete obedience. The night before he went back, the last night he was at home, he came into my room and read me my bed-time story. Then he told me to never forget him. My father knew he was not coming back." She paused for a second. Dumbledore felt her energy wavered a bit before she continued. "I understand what the ministry did; it doesn't mean that I forgive it. I will be your spy, professor, but I do not fight for ministry's cause, instead I fight for my father's."

It is then Dumbledore felt a wave of energy washed over him. For couple seconds he was totally lost of words. Snape had told him that Trista was a squib, even in the letter he did not mention that she has such strong power. Sure, it was said that she has a special power, but not something raw and overwhelming like this.

"I suppose the best way for me to spy is to take on my current profession in your world." Trista started to stand up and walk toward the door. "By the way," she stopped at the door way, "since I couldn't find my father's cello, I believe you have it. May I have it back?"

Harry reached up his hand and touched the words that were carved into the dungeon walls. This is the cell that imprisoned Severus Snape for the last month of his life. Some of the older Deatheaters told him that Snape carved those words by his finger nails. That was before they broke all of his fingers, of course. Harry traced deepest carving with his index finger and imagined the potion master's slender, pale fingers, covered with blood, clawed on the wall and left the fierce letters. 

There was no name of his loved ones. There was no last minute confession or prayer for revenge. The carving was in Fairian, the language of one of the most beautiful and purest creature in magical world.  Since the day he knew that the carving was Fairian, Harry started to learn the language, but he still could not read the script on the wall. Snape was, after all, very weak when he carved those words, and some of the letters were not recognizable after ten years.

"Here again, Young Potter?"

Harry turned around and found the Dark Lord himself standing by the cell door.

"Yes, my lord." Harry bowed slightly. He had been Voldemort's assassin for quite some times, but he was never as courteous toward Voldemort as other Deatheaters. "The carving on the wall troubles me."

"Ah, Severus' last word." Voldemort's snake face twisted into what was his version of smiling, which made Snape's sneer became the face of Helen of Sparta. "It's Fairian."

"But I cannot read it. The letters are not recognizable anymore."

"Yes, yes…." Voldemort walked into the cell and stopped in front of the wall. It took him a minute or so to read the word, and then he laughed.

"My lord?" Harry could not imagine Snape's last word was a joke.

"I would never have thought." Voldemort said between his hissing laughter. "Who would have thought that Severus was such a romanticist? It is a line from a fairy folk song. 'I jem a, I jem a. Ya do A shan o sholi.' I heard that you've been studying Fairian for a few years, now, I believe you can translate it yourself."

Harry whispered slowly as if he was talking to himself instead of answering Voldemort's question. "Forgot me not, forgot me not. Tonight I left with the shooting star. It's his last request. He asked for remembrance."

"I certainly remember him." Voldemort said. His red eyes glittered with hatred and contempt in the darkness. 

"I would never forget." Harry said with a pensive look in his green eyes.  

A/N: I am so sorry it so long!!! I am graduating from high school this year and believe me, it is a busy year.  Big thank you and hugs to those who reviewed! I nearly hit the ceiling when I found out that I got 5 reviews in one chapter. (my personal record…^_^)

Oh, and the bit about Fairian. It is, obviously, the language of fairies. I made up the language (sweatdrop….) It is mostly based on Chinese dialects and some Japanese. There won't be a lot of that in this story, but if anyone wants the word for word translation of Fairian used in the story, please drop a word and I will add the dictionary.


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